


Love and Protect

by Trotzkopf



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Amateur Highwaymen, Banter, Kissing, M/M, Protective feelings, Romance, Shovel Wielding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 14:40:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14546907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trotzkopf/pseuds/Trotzkopf
Summary: Five protective prompt short fics, first published on tumblr. Chapter titles are the prompts.





	1. "Here, I have an extra weapon."

Commander Vimes became rapidly better acquainted with the ground as he ducked for cover. 

“Good afternoon, your lordship,” he greeted the other person already occupying the same space behind the upturned table. 

“Ah, commander. So good of you to join us,” the Patrician replied. 

A crossbow arrowhead pierced through the wood in between their faces. Sam smiled. 

“Yes, sorry about that, sir. I was held up by a couple of gentlemen who raised objections to my appearance.”

A strangled cry from their left informed them the fight was currently not going in their side’s favour. 

Seemingly unconcerned, the Patrician enquired, “And what kind of objections were they?” He eyed Sam up and down as best he could from their prone position. “I can’t find any fault with your attire. You’re for once dressed as a gentleman - without armour or sword.”

“Yes, someone told me showing up at peace negotiations in my uniform could be seen as aggressive and would therefore be counterproductive.” He smiled sweetly at Havelock who inclined his head ever so slightly. 

“At any rate, I think the gentlemen didn’t object to my clothes so much as to the fact that I was there and still breathing,” Vimes explained. 

A windowpane shattered at the other end of the room as more enemies dressed in black dropped in. 

“I don’t see any blood, so I take it you persuaded them otherwise to let you pass?” 

“You could say that, sir. You could,” Vimes nodded. 

Vetinari raised an eyebrow.

“I happened to stand next to the rope holding up a very heavy, cast iron chandelier, and I might have tripped and tried to catch myself, pulling the cord and, well…do you think I should formerly apologise?” 

Their cover vibrated as something heavy thudded into the other side. 

“Oh, I shouldn’t think so, but I’m pleased to see you have thought about this diplomatically.” 

“Thank you, sir. So, negotiations going well?” Vimes grinned. 

The corners of Vetinari’s mouth twitched but his voice sounded almost bored. 

“I think we might have arrived at an impasse. Very unfortunate, indeed. Did you happen to pick up any weaponry from your would-be murderers?” 

“No, sir. No time. But I’m sure I can improvise.”

“Here,” Vetinari handed Vimes a dagger, brandishing one of his own. “I always carry a spare one.”

“Of course, you do,” Vimes replied and took it. “Any last orders before we clean up this mess?”

Havelock leaned forward and caught Sam’s mouth in a quick kiss. 

“Stay alive.” 

When he pulled back, Sam caught Vetinari’s neck and kissed him again, pushing his tongue between unresisting lips. 

“Right back at you,” Sam replied before they joined the fray. 

The End 


	2. “If you even THINK about touching him, I’ll kill you.”

Lord Vetinari was smiling as he read the latest complaints concerning Commander Vimes when the door to the Oblong Office opened. 

There was the sound of shuffling feet, chains clinking together, a thumb, more steps and another thud when the door closed again. 

When the Patrician looked up, Dragon King of Arms sat in a chair across from his desk. The skinny vampire’s eyes were bulging out of his skull, fangs digging into his bottom lip. He looked even more pale and parched than his kind usually did, rubbing his skeleton like hands together, making the chains around his bony wrists jingle.

“Ah-ha. You know very well these won’t make a difference, your lordship.”

“Forgive me, but it makes the guards feel more at ease. You may take them off now if you like,” Vetinari replied casually as he got up and opened his liquor cabinet that he kept in his office. He rather liked it when other people drank in his presence. It made it so much easier to get under their skin.

Vetinari reached for a bottle in the back, encrusted in gold and gems. There was a strangled gasp from the direction of his visitor when he uncorked it and poured dark, red liquid into a goblet. 

Dragon King of Arms hissed as Vetinari sauntered over and placed the drink on the edge of his desk. The bony fingers clasped the armrests of the chair, eyes now burning with feverish zeal as they focused on the chalice. Dragon King of Arms sniffed and failed to suppress a shiver. 

“Ah-ha. Does your commander know you keep human blood in your - ah-ha - inner sanctum?” 

Vetinari sat back down and steepled his fingers together. 

“I apologise for the lack of hospitality so far, but I’m sure you understand why we keep undead prisoners on an animal blood diet, yes?” 

“Ah-ha. Of course.” 

Metal screamed as it snapped, shrapnel embedded into the walls, followed by the sound of chains rattling to the floor. Vetinari didn’t even flinch. 

“And I hope you understand I only stayed as a matter of etiquette despite it,” Dragon King replied, rubbing his wrists, his eyes still resting on the drink.

“Of course. It would take a lot more to imprison a vampire of your eminence. Your acquiescence is very much appreciated.” Vetinari inclined his head. 

“I take it the old families put in a good word for me?” Dragon King asked, finally reaching for the stem. He held the goblet under his nose and savoured the bouquet. “Ah-ha. Wherever did you find a virgin in Ankh-Morpork?”  

“To answer your earlier question, your usefulness outweighs your transgression. Even without the records, you have five hundred years of information in that undead skull of yours. I’m therefore inclined to allow you to merely choose exile as opposed to the stake, provided you agree to continue to be useful to the city.”

“A very generous offer, my lord,” Dragon King of Arms swirled the blood. Vetinari couldn’t help but admire the strength of the vampire’s willpower. Starved and angry, and yet he observed civil custom like a gentleman. It was such a pity!

“There is but one other small detail I’d like to make perfectly clear,” Vetinari began. 

“This concerns Commander Vimes, doesn’t it?” 

“An astute observation. I fear you might bear the man ill will after he so thoroughly foiled your plans and destroyed your precious records. A lamentable and somewhat petty reaction to your antics maybe, but since we cannot prove conclusively that he did set the fire, my hands are tied. Therefore, I expect you to let the matter go.” 

A snarl emitted from the vampire, he stopped smiling and finally took a long draft, draining the goblet to the bottom before he set it back on the desk. The vampire stifled a moan as he licked his lips.

“Exquisite!”

“Do we have an accord?”

In a blur, Dragon King of Arms flung the goblet to the side. He was around the desk, and within touching distance of Vetinari before the chalice even hit the wall.

“Your first mistake was to let me live. Your second was to feed me.” He slowly reached out with a talon like hand. “I could forgive a lot of things, Havelock. But not this! Not…wha…wha—” 

The vampire crumbled to dust just as his fingernail scraped across Vetinari’s lapel. 

Havelock sighed, opened a drawer in his desk and took out a dust pan and brush. He scooped up what remained of Dragon King of Arms and dumped him into a small, lacquered box. 

Before he closed the lid he said, “I’ll write this down for you as well, but just in case you can hear me. If you ever even think of touching Sam Vimes or his family again, I’ll do much more than feed you blood laced with holy water. And now, don’t let me detain you.”

He closed the lid and went back to work.

The End 


	3. “I’d die for you”

The wind howled as Iron Girder thundered through the night, boulders bouncing off her sorortanium plating. Battle cries and the clashing of weapons created a cacophony and yet, against all odds, Vimes heard the command behind him.

“Duck!” 

Without thinking, he dropped onto the carriage roof, lifting his head just in time to see his attacker lift his crossbow. Something whooshed over the commander’s head. There was a clang when the shovel deflected the arrow in a million to one chance, which would have stuck in Sam’s face, making it sail into the night. The shovel, however, travelled on, the blade slicing into the cowled face and sticking there for a terrible second before the stricken delver fell sideways off the train. 

Vimes rolled onto his back and took the proffered hand of the stoker, allowing the tall, soot stained man to help him back on to his feet. The battle sounds started to fade.

“We won.”

“Mh-hm.” Vimes grunted, shoulders heaving.

“And here I thought you’d be pleased,” the stoker remarked before Sam grabbed the front of his jacket and shook him.

“You bloody idiot! What did you do that for? He had a loaded crossbow, pointed in your direction! You could have—“

“ _You_ would have died. He had rather good aim.” 

The commander shook the man again for good measure. “I’m your guard, remember? It’s my job to stand in between you and the arrow.” He let the other man go and growled. “Why did I ever agree to… _this_?” He gestured toward Havelock’s attire. 

Vetinari raised an eyebrow, although Sam couldn’t see it in his blackened face. 

“As I recall, you agreed to nothing. I agreed for the both of us. And just because you’re commander of the Watch doesn’t mean you have to die when there’s a reasonable alternative such as letting another capable fighter save your life.” 

Sam suppressed a scream. “Damn! You know that’s not—“ He bit his lip, and, after a brief look over his shoulder, took a step forward. 

“You know that’s not…ah, damn— Listen, I’d prefer to stay alive. I’m rather fond of living. Very addictive. You know me.”

White teeth flashed in the dark. “I rather think I do.” 

“But if push comes to shove,” Sam pressed even closer, his breath fanning over Havelock’s cheek. “I’m going to lay down my life for you.”

“How very romantic.”

“This is not a joke. I won’t even hesitate.” 

“I know,” Havelock nodded. “But has it occurred to you that I’d do the same for you?” 

Sam cursed and pulled Havelock against him, claiming his mouth in a possessive kiss that went on far longer than was wise, but neither of them cared. Not when they felt the other man warm and alive against them. They had wasted so much time getting here, they could scarcely afford not to treasure every moment.

Soot covered the lower half of Vimes’ face as they broke apart. Havelock grinned at him and made a gesture with his hand, prompting Sam to wipe his face with his sleeve. 

“Almost there.” Vimes stared into the darkness ahead. 

Havelock nodded. “Almost there. I need to get another shovel.” 

He was about to leave when Sam stepped closer, pressing his whole body against Havelock’s back, whispering something in his ear before he kissed his neck and dropped over the edge onto the footplate below.

Stoker Blake stood unmoving for a few more seconds, frozen to the spot before he smiled to himself. 

“I love you too.” 

The End


	4. "Don’t you hurt a single hair on his/her/their head.”

“In fact, I suggest you don’t hurt a single hair on his head,” the commander remarked, hands in the air.

The statement was greeted with howling laughter from the six highwaymen, two of whom held on to the Patrician while the four others pointed crossbows at Sam.

Once the apparent leader of the group had his breath back, he gasped, “Or…hehe…or what? Ye gonna rip our heads off with ye bare hands, hn? I heard ‘bout ye. Ye that copper what offed them werewolves up in Bonk. Ain’t that right?”

There was a chorus of mocking “oohs” and “look-at-‘ims”. 

Sam nodded. 

“That’s right. And no, I’m not the one you should be worried about. But his lordship is a vain bastard and takes exception when people mess with his hair. Trust me, I know.” 

He winked at Havelock who rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitched.

The assembled group froze for five seconds before they lost it again. Tears streaming down a few men’s faces. Crossbows wavering in the air. 

Amateurs. 

“Wha’, you mean like _this_?” 

There was a snip sound. 

“I really wish you hadn’t done that,” sighed Vetinari. 

“Oh dear,” Sam remarked, shaking his head. 

The rest was a bit of a blur. The lock of black hair hit the ground only a few seconds before the last thug gurgled and expired with a squishy thud.

Sam lowered his hands. 

“Vain bastard?” Vetinari asked with a raised eyebrow as he cleaned his dagger on one of the dead men’s trousers. 

“You know its true. So do they — or they did, for about fifteen seconds.”

The dagger vanished somewhere under Havelock’s clothes, when he noticed Sam staring. 

“What?” 

“Oh…nothing.”

“ _What_?”

“It’s just…you look a bit…”

Vetinari reached for his hair, a vein on his forehead started to throb. 

“Look like what?”

“Asymmetrical?” 

Vetinari growled under his breath and not so accidentally stepped on the dead highwayman’s hand as he climbed back into their coach. 

Sam closed his eyes and leaned his head back. It was easier that way to pretend not to notice how Havelock surreptitiously looked at his reflection in the window for the first few minutes. 

It was after all never a good idea to mess with an assassin. 

The End 


	5. "Get behind me NOW!"

“Hop on!” shouted Vimes. 

The ground was already shaking. 

“Commander, I don’t think this will take our weight.“

“I said, get on!” 

The rumbling of thousand tons of ice and snow grew louder. 

“It’s only for—“

“NOW!”

“If you insist,” sighed Vetinari, swinging his leg over the wooden seat of the sledge. It was barely big enough for one, let alone two grown men. 

“Hold on to me,” Vimes said. 

Obediently, Vetinari slung his arms around Sam as they tipped over the ridge and swooshed down the hill. It was ironic really, Havelock sometimes passed the time by entertaining the thought of holding Sam Vimes in his arms. But even in his own head, the scenario almost always ended with him imagining his own, horrible death because, quite frankly, he couldn’t envision how such an occurrence could proceed otherwise. And now, here he was, doing just this, because Sam had told him to, precisely because they might die otherwise. 

Under other circumstances Havelock might have enjoyed this. The fresh Überwaldian air, the adrenaline as they rushed at neck-breaking speed down the snow covered hill. The warm, gallant commander in his arms. The— oh no! Narrativium could be so inconvenient sometimes. He tried to shift his lower body further away from Sam, but found that this would probably result in him falling off.

“Hold on!” Sam called again, grabbing Havelock’s hand to hold him closer. 

“I’m not sure this was a wise decision!” Vetinari shouted in Sam’s ear. 

“Dying by ice sounds even dafter too me!” Vimes shouted back over his shoulder. 

“Tree!” 

“WHAT?”

“LEAN TO YOUR LEFT!” 

Vimes’ body obeyed the voice. He leaned left as did Havelock behind him. They swerved around the fir, low hanging branches smacking them in the face. 

“Ye Gods!” Vimes panted after he spat the needles out. 

“I’m sorry if I startled you,” Vetinari said, “but death by tree didn’t sound like a smart choice either.” 

Vimes pressed his lips together to stifle a snarl.

Behind them, the avalanche swallowed the world. 

“I’m afraid we’ll have to resort to drastic measures!” Havelock said into Vimes’ ear. 

“What?

“Go right!” 

“But—”

“Shortcut!” Havelock shouted, already leaning over, forcing Sam to do the same. 

“There’s something wrong with the horizon!” Sam called over his shoulder.

“No, there isn’t.” 

“Yes, there is! Because it’s ending! OH F—” 

The sledge zoomed over the edge of the chasm, gliding through the air like a peculiar, chunky albatross before it thudded into the snow covered meadow on the other side where it slowly rolled to a stop, and then collapsed.

Their laughter was almost drowned out by the wall of ice and snow tumbling into the depth behind them. 

Once they calmed down, Vimes remarked, “You’re still holding on.” 

But when Vetinari tried to pull back, Sam caught his arms and held them tight. He relaxed against Havelock who, after a few heartbeats, leaned his chin on Sam’s shoulder. 

“How long have you been thinking about this?” Vimes asked.

“What makes you think I have?” Havelock whispered.

“There were clues.” 

Vetinari’s lips ghosted over the shell of Sam’s ear. “Such as?” 

Vimes grunted. “Let’s just say, I could feel your considerable interest despite the layers of clothing and our near death experience.”

“Should I apologise?” 

Sam turned in their embrace and shook his head before he crushed their mouth together. After a brief moment, Havelock flinched back. 

“What?” Sam asked, slightly alarmed. 

Vetinari turned his head and spat out a fir needle. Vimes wrinkled his nose.

“Maybe we should continue this somewhere less nature-y.” Sam remarked, already scrambling to his feet.

“Indeed,” Vetinari agreed.

“Maybe somewhere with a bed?” 

“For two?” 

Sam shrugged, “Oh, I don’t know.”

“Ah, I’m sorry if—“

“But whatever it is, I’m sure we’ll make due.” 

The End


End file.
